


here i am leaving you clues

by thomashelbys



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Inordinate Amounts of Overthinking, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomashelbys/pseuds/thomashelbys
Summary: Dele and Eric's relationship through kisses.





	1. shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> helloooooooo  
> this is my first attempt at 1. publishing the stuff i write without regretting it afterwards and 2. writing something multi-chaptered.  
> also, and this is important, english isn't my first language, so please let me know if you spot any error/typo!  
> enjoy :)  
> p.s.: title's taken from richard siken's "snow and dirty rain" poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He certainly knows why his heart is speeding up right now, and why he is blushing like he is pining after a high school crush. It’s because he is.

I.

_ December 2015 _

 

The first time it happens is during the Spurs’ Christmas party, and both of them are a bit tipsy. 

The air is filled with laughter, and Dele is sitting on one of the black leather sofas, sipping on his beer and trying to focus on Winksy and Sonny’s conversation, when Eric drops half of his body onto the spot next to him, the other half on his lap.

See, Dele  _ knows  _ himself. He knows why he was drawn to Eric since the moment they’ve met, even during those first months, back when he thought that Eric didn’t like him very much. And he certainly knows why his heart is speeding up right now, and why he is blushing like he is pining after a high school crush.

It’s because he is.

He has a big crush on Eric Dier, midfielder extraordinaire and fast-becoming best friend.

“Are you comfortable enough, sir, or would you like me to move over?” Dele asks, aiming his tone for sarcastic and unaffected, but landing on annoyingly smitten and out of breath.

“I’m actually pretty comfortable, thanks for asking, Delboy,” Eric answers, his voice thick like molasses and his Portuguese accent stronger than usual. He sneaks one of his arms around Dele’s waist and cuddles beside him, resting his head on Dele’s shoulder. 

Dele’s heart jackrabbits once again, but the lets himself be cuddled by Eric, relaxing into his touch when he feels Eric’s fingers tangle with the hem of his festive jumper, used to being touchy-feely when it comes to him and Eric. Sonny smiles and Winksy gives them a thumbs up, and Dele knows his face must be broadcasting his feelings for Eric to the entire team, as it usually happens when the two of them are in the same room.

Dele thanks his lucky stars that Eric has never caught up on it. Or maybe he has, and is just very good at pretending for the sake of their friendship. Dele doesn’t know which one is worse.

The leg that Eric has thrown over his legs is slipping a little, so Dele rearranges his own legs and uses his free hand to hold Eric’s leg in place. He scoots down and rests his head against the back of the sofa, closes his eyes. Eric is rambling about something that Kyle did earlier that week and Dele laughs a little because he’s cute. Eric, that is. He goes on and on about all sorts of things when he has had a few, using Portuguese and giggles when he doesn’t remember a specific word in English.

“Hey, Del,” Eric says, and when Dele turns his head Eric’s face is right there, his chin propped up on Dele’s shoulder, his blue eyes twinkling and his lips curved in a timid smile. Dele feels as if his heart has doubled its size inside his chest, and nothing has even happened. 

_ Yet _ , the thinks. Feels.

“Hm?” Dele mumbles in answer, tightening his grip on his almost forgotten beer bottle when he notices that his other hand is still on Eric’s thigh. 

“Merry Christmas, Delboy,” Eric says. Still looking at Dele, he presses his lips against Dele’s shoulder with a smack and winks.  _ The audacity _ , Dele thinks. Eric disentangles himself from Dele’s body, steals the rest of his beer and walks away.

But not before Dele sees the red tinting his best friend’s cheeks and the smug turn of his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://thereisnopepe.tumblr.com/), if you want to say hi.


	2. head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dele doesn't think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all very soft!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

II.

_ January 2016 _

 

The second time it happens, it goes like this:

Dele catches up to Eric and wraps his arms around Eric’s shoulders while they’re walking to the pitch one morning, pushing his face against the fabric of his shirt where it stretches on his back. Eric lets out a soft  _ oof  _ at the impact and they stumble a little, but keep walking like a pair of clumsy ducklings for a few more steps.

“One of these days you’re gonna have to learn how to walk on your own, Delboy,” Eric sighs but stops walking.

Dele hides his smile on the curve of Eric’s shoulder blade.

“Not today, though,” Dele replies, grabbing Eric’s shoulders for support before jumping up. He doesn’t think about the way Eric catches him, the way he’s always ready to catch him. Or about the way Eric is always willing to bend himself backwards for Dele’s wishes (with only the minimal amount of protest). Or about the way Eric’s hands feel on his thighs, the way he always digs his fingernails a little, goosebumps breaking all over Dele’s skin. He doesn’t think about it.

_ He doesn’t. _

Okay, maybe he does. A little.

Only when he has his legs wrapped around Eric’s waist, and his gloved hands secure around his upper body, Eric starts walking again, acting as if Dele doesn’t weight a thing. He rests his chin on the top of Eric’s head, closes his eyes and turns his face towards the sun when they get to the pitch. He only pays half a mind to the conversation Jan and Mousa and Eric are having around him, sleep and cold both wearing him down and making him a little bit quieter. 

He doesn’t think about Eric’s thumbs mindlessly caressing the side of his thighs in soothing patterns, doesn’t think about this ever-present urge to do the same and run his fingers through Eric’s beard, doesn’t think about how Eric would smile if that were to happen, ask him  _ what are you doing, Del _ with that slow voice of his. 

Yeah, so maybe he does think about it more than he’d like to admit.

“Don’t you ever get tired of carrying his lazy arse about, Dier?” Dele hears Kyle asking from somewhere to his left. He raises his head and is ready to tell Kyle that Eric doesn’t know how to say no to him, but Eric beats him to it.

“Have you seen him when he doesn’t get what he wants? Absolute nightmare,” Eric turns his head and Dele catches a glimpse of his smile, feels something soften inside of him. “I’m doing a favor to everyone’s mornings.”

Dele scowls. He’s not even that bad. He’s about to tell Eric off for being a little lying bastard, but then they get to where everyone is already gathered and pairing off for stretches.

“Gonna let go now, Del?” Eric asks. “Or should we do stretches with you on my back?”

“Not sure Poch would like that,” Dele says.

Eric slowly lets go of one of Dele’s legs, waits until his feet is safely on the ground to let go of the other one. Dele doesn’t think about the gentlenessess with which Eric treats him, doesn’t think, doesn’t, doesn’t,  _ does _ .

Which might explain what happens next. 

With his arms around Eric’s neck, he closes the remaining gap between him and Eric and presses his mouth to the side of Eric’s head, pressing three rapid fire kisses to his temple as a  _ thank you _ before letting go of him.

He has to make a herculean effort to hide the smile on his face when he sees that Eric’s cheeks are burning up even worse than they were after the kiss at the Christmas party.

_ Touché _ , he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry it took me so long to update this thing! uni/work are killing me at the moment :( anyways, i'm not completely happy with this chapter, but i hope i did justice to your expectations.  
> songs that sort of inspired this chapter:  
> \- toothpaste kisses - the maccabees  
> \- like real people do - hozier
> 
> comments are always nice and welcome, and please let me know if you spot a typo/error of some kind!  
> also, i'm on [tumblr](https://thereisnopepe.tumblr.com) in case you wanna talk to me!


	3. forehead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of things he wants, he’s aware of that. He wants to ask, _what are you thinking about?_ He wants to banter, wants to kneel in front of him, close the gap, run his fingers through Eric’s soft hair, taste the beer on his tongue, breathe in the summer on his skin, press their bodies together until they’re flat on the ground,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writer's block is the fucking worst

III. 

_ July 2016 _

 

It’s not always that their movie nights end up with them on Eric’s backyard, slightly drunk and trying to outplay each other at basketball, yet here they are. The night is warm, and summer wraps itself around their calves, and the sound of Eric’s laugh fizzles like bubbles in his stomach, but still Dele keeps the ball, fakes a move to the left and goes right when Eric rises to the bait. Aims a shot. Scores.

“Ugh,” Eric groans and collapses to the ground, arms and legs starfished on the warm concrete.

“Admit it, Eric. Deal is a deal,” Dele says as he wipes the sweat on his forehead. He pulls up the camera on his phone and points it at Eric’s limp body. “‘m the first to ten points, you know what you have to do.”

“Ugh,” Eric groans again as he sits up, legs stretched in a v shape as he leans on his hands. Dele comes closer, feels his breath getting caught on his throat a little when Eric looks up and stares at him through the camera, the booze and the garden lights turning his blue eyes a shade darker. “You’re the best basketball player in the world.”

“And?” Dele presses the toe of his trainers to the inside of Eric’s knee for emphasis.

“Ugh,” Eric scratches his beard, blonde hair flopping on his forehead. Dele has never been more attracted to anyone in his life, ever. “You’re the best basketball player in the world. King Dele.”

“Good boy, Diet,” Dele tuts before turning the camera off and pocketing his phone. It’s only then he realizes that he’s practically standing in the middle of Eric’s legs, looking down at him as Eric stares up, head inclined to the side and still skimming his fingers through his beard, a contemplative look on his face.

Dele’s heart skips a beat. There’s a lot of things he wants, he’s aware of that. He wants to ask,  _ what are you thinking about? _ He wants to banter, wants to kneel in front of him, close the gap, run his fingers through Eric’s soft hair, taste the beer on his tongue, breathe in the summer on his skin, press their bodies together until they’re flat on the ground, roll around the lukewarm concrete until he’s under Eric, his breath washing over his cheek as Eric bites the hinge of his jaw and goes down down  _ down _ and...

Dele shakes his head, takes a step back.

“I’ll help you clean up,” he says, offers Eric a hand, an electric current running under his skin as their hands clasp together. 

Dele doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Eric’s takes a few seconds longer than necessary to let go of his hand, or the sheepish smile Eric shoots him before going back inside. Dele follows him, deciding he’s too tired and uncoordinated to actually help as he sprawls on Eric’s sofa and watches him collect bottles of beer and the popcorn bowl.

“Cheers, thank you for helping me clean up, Del,” Eric says, throwing a stray Haribo bear at him, hitting him straight on the nose.

_ Straight, hah _ , Dele’s alcohol muddled brain supplies him.

“Where was that aim five minutes ago when I was beating your arse outside, I do wonder,” Dele smiles brilliantly at him before popping the Haribo bear into his mouth, chewing happily and giggling at Eric’s sullen  _ shut up _ .

He kicks his trainers off and closes his eyes, hugging a cushion to his chest as he makes himself comfortable on Eric’s sofa. He lets his mind wander. It’s all pretty domestic, he thinks, the sounds of Eric puttering about in the kitchen, the clink of bottles as he throws them in the trash and the soft hum of the air conditioner somewhere to his left.  _ Home _ , he thinks upon hearing the Portuguese lilt to Eric’s voice as he sings while rinsing the popcorn bowl and the mug he uses for drinking coffee after lunch, the one he always forget to put in the dishwasher. A warm fuzzy feeling settles on his chest once he realizes that he sort of is. Home, that is.

_ Eric _ is home, in a way. 

Dele contemplates the thought for a moment, humming to himself before folding it back and putting it on the To Be Analyzed Again When Sober drawer. He’s toeing the line between wakefulness and sleep by the time Eric is back, feels rather than sees him coming closer, now singing softly under his breath as if he knows Dele is most likely to be asleep. He’s not, not yet, but Eric’s voice and the way he enunciates the words are doing a fine good job as a lullaby. 

(He wants to ask Eric the name of the song, he thinks, sleepily. Wants to know why Eric likes it, wants to know the lyrics, wants wants wants.) 

He feels Eric covering him with a soft blanket and sitting on the edge of the sofa beside Dele’s hip. He feels Eric’s fingers graze his cheek, his ear, find a place on the nape of his neck. He’s grasping at consciousness but he’s sure he’s not imagining this, he’s not dreaming up the way Eric draws closer, the press of his lips against his forehead.

“Night, Del,” Eric whispers as he gets up.

It’s the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ben wyatt's voice] do you think a depressed person could make this?  
> few #notes:  
> \- u guessed right the goddamn basketball vid was my inspiration  
> \- in my head the song eric is singing is "eu te devoro", a brazilian song by djavan (once i figure out how to put links on my notes it's over for u bitch @ ao3)  
> \- songs for this chapter were "glass in the park" by alex turner, "budapest" by george ezra and "comin out strong" by future!  
> \- thais, this chapter is for u! thank you for being an angel <3
> 
> comments are always nice and welcome!  
> i'm on [tumblr](https://thereisnopepe.tumblr.com)!


	4. corner of the mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric wears a sheer shirt. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!  
> if you follow me on tumblr, you probably knew i was going to delete the chapters four and five for a while, because i uhhh sort of used them as one of my final projects for uni this semester hehe. i was a little paranoid about the whole thing, but they're back now!

IV.

_January 2017_

 

See, here’s the thing about him and Eric.

They’ve always tiptoed the line between best friends and something else, something _more._  Dele feels it when Eric comes clattering onto him during goal celebrations, fingers curling at the hem of shirts, lips grazing at cheekbones. It’s a weird sort of electricity that runs through every nerve of his body, one that Dele feels when he catches Eric eyeing his naked chest from across the dressing room, fire spreading through his cheeks at being caught, like a kid with one hand in the cookie jar.

Dele feels it right now, too.

They’re taking advantage of midseason break and celebrating Eric’s birthday at their go-to posh nightclub in London. Chris and Harry, as usual, are the responsible parties of the night, while everyone else seems to be _at least_ three sheets to the wind, Eric included. Dele isn’t nearly drunk enough, though, to deal with the fact that fucking Eric is wearing a fucking sheer shirt and has fucking golden glitter smeared across his cheekbones, courtesy of one Erik Lamela.

So, yeah, he feels the current of electricity making the tips of his fingers tingle while he watches from the bar as Eric, black sheer shirt and golden glitter Eric, sways his hips to the first beats of _Consideration_ , the hand that is holding his bottle of beer up in the air and a crooked bright pink birthday tiara on his head.

It’s _sinful,_  Dele’s brain whines. Eric shouldn’t be allowed to exist and not be touching Dele at all times.

He finishes his bottle of beer in one go just to stop that train of thought.

“Dele!” Sonny shouts from the dancefloor. “Come dance!”

Eric, Coco, Sonny, and Jan all start chanting _Dele! Dele! Dele!_ progressively louder, and it takes one look at Eric’s face, beaming at him from under the lights, to convince Dele to give up his place at the bar and go over to the rather secluded corner where the lads have taken residence.

Everyone cheers, and Eric wiggles his eyebrows as Dele comes to a stop in front of him. He throws an arm around Dele’s shoulders, still dancing as he pulls him closer and offers him the bottle of beer. Dele takes it, if only to prevent Eric from getting drunker, and takes a sip.

“Eugh, fuck me, why are you drinking piss warm beer?” Dele punches Eric’s shoulder.

“Stop punching me, it’s my birthday,” Eric pouts.

“And since when do you own a sheer shirt, by the way?” Dele asks, because it’s been bugging him since the night started. Dele might be in lo… _like_ with the guy, but Eric’s sense of style is kind of bland.

“Since… Thursday, I guess. Went shopping. D’ya like it? I thought you would.”

Eric winks at him, a secret curve to his smile as if he knows something Dele doesn’t. Dele stares at him, flabbergasted.

“Coco, coco!” Eric shouts, turning to his left. “Pass me the glitter.”

Coco puts the small tube of paint in Dele’s hand and takes the beer in exchange, winking as he goes back to where Sonny is trying to teach the Pied Piper dance to a completely trashed Jan.

Dele’s eyes follow as Eric dips his index finger into glitter paint and raises his hand to Dele’s face, contemplating for a few seconds before painting a streak down the bridge of his nose. He does it again, one scraggly line on each of Dele’s cheekbones this time. Fondness swells on Dele’s chest at the look of utter concentration on Eric’s face.

“We match now,” Dele says, his fingers tangling on the hem of Eric’s damn sheer shirt.

Eric smiles at him. “Yeah, we do, Dele.”

The space between them is almost nonexistent now, one of his feet in the middle of both of Eric’s as they move to the beat. Dele doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol giving him courage - or the darkness of the club, or their friends around them making him brave enough, safe enough. He rest his forehead against Eric’s, eyes downcast as he pulls at his shirt because _he wants Eric closer, god_. He unabashedly stares at Eric’s mouth, a shiver running down his spine when Eric thumbs at his jawline, their breaths mingling when Eric opens his mouth, licks his lips.

“Del…” he feels rather than hears Eric mumbling his name.

Dele looks up, heartbeat stammering when he finds hooded blue eyes already on him. He brings his hand to the side of Eric’s neck, runs his fingers through the short hair at the back of his head.

“Del. I want,” Eric swallows, hand now cradling Dele’s face. “I want…”

It’d be so simple now, because it’s much easier to admit things in the dark, Dele thinks. To bridge the space between their mouths like he’d been dying to do for months now, to feel Eric’s hands curling against his ribs, the roughness of his beard scratching his chin.

Eric is drunk, though, and that gives Dele pause. He bumps their noses together, draws a random shape down the side of his neck.

“You’re sloshed, Diet. Shhh,” Dele shushes when Eric starts shaking his head no.

Eric pouts again, and Dele can’t help the giggles that escape him, traces Eric’s bottom lip with the tip of his index finger. In a rather bold move that almost contradicts his whole argument, he closes the space between them and presses his lips to the corner of Eric’s mouth.

“I want to,” the mumbles against Eric’s cheek, feels the hand on his shoulder tighten once Eric realizes the implication. “But we’re not doing this here. I don’t want you to kiss me while you’re drunk, because I want you to remember, kay, Diet? Want us both to remember.”

Eric nods and rests his forehead against Dele’s again. He runs his hand down Dele’s back, and Dele closes his eyes, goes back to caressing the back of Eric’s neck, fingers smoothing the short strands of blonde hair. They shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of a packed dance floor, Dele guesses, but doesn’t move, not until someone taps his shoulder.

It’s Chris. “Dele, we’re going. Harry and Mousa are calling taxis for the other lads. Do you want a ride?”

Dele nods, grabbing Eric’s hand as he guides them to the exit. He helps Eric into Christian’s car, a soft laugh falling from his lips at how drunk Eric looks.

“You’re beautiful, Del,” Eric says as he caresses his knuckles, and Dele almost says ‘fuck it’ and kisses him right there.

Almost.

He thumbs at the collar of Eric’s shirt before closing the distance between them and kissing the corner of Eric’s mouth again, smiling when Eric huffs.

“Gotta stop doing that, Delboy,” he mumbles, Portuguese accent jumbling his speech.

Dele laughs, electricity running down his body again.

“Gotta start kissing me when you’re sober then,” Dele whispers, giving Eric a pat on his cheek before closing the passenger door.

-*-

His phone beeps once, while he’s on the way home, and Dele unlocks it to find a message from Eric.

_d ya mean it_

Dele stares at the message for a few seconds. Types _no lol just bants_.

Deletes it.

 _yes_ , he writes instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://thereisnopepe.tumblr.com) if u wanna talk.


	5. almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They look at each other for a few seconds, and Dele wonders if it would be weird if he snapped a picture of Eric right now. He wants to capture the way is hair turns a deep golden colour when wet, the way droplets of water run from his shoulders down his chest, the way his eyes reflect the glimmering light of the swimming pool’s surface, the way he’s looking at Dele, open and earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [grabs popcorn]

V.

_June 2017_

 

More often than not, when Eric goes missing inside St. George’s Park before international games, Dele seems to be the only person who knows where to find him. Eric told him about the Algarve region once or twice, and how the sea always made his thoughts a little bit clearer. So, Dele reasons, the swimming pools are the logical place for Dele to go looking for him the night before their friendly against France.

Eric is currently doing laps, so Dele takes off his socks and sits on the edge of the pool, feet swaying back and forth in the water as he distracts himself with Instagram, waiting for Eric to swim back his way. Water ripples against his shins as Eric draws closer, and Dele feels one of his hands closing around his calf underwater once he’s within touching distance, his blonde head emerging right after.

“Alright, Diet?” Dele asks.

Eric stands up to his full height, water waist-high and his hand still on Dele’s calf. He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Nervous?” He pokes Eric on the ribs with his other foot until he grabs it too.

“Nah, just a friendly. Gaffer might not even put me on the squad,” Eric shrugs, smile a tad too self-deprecating for Dele’s liking.

“Shut up, will ya,” Dele scolds. “Both of us are gonna start, you and me. Somebody’s gotta be there to help me, innit? Dig me out when things get too intense, right?”

It’s a small mercy, Dele knows, and he winces internally. Dele knows kindness, knows how to offer it in physical gestures after games, when he doesn’t have to think, or in writing, when he has time to think about how to say stuff. He has never been good with face-to-face comfort, though, so used to working his way around with banter and by keeping people at arm’s length distances. But this is Eric, and Eric so far has been the exception to all of Dele’s rules, so he has to try. _Wants_ to try.

Dele heart flutters on his chest when he sees the sad lilt on Eric’s mouth replaced by something more soft, more gentle. He knows, deep down, that he doesn’t have to worry about what his words sound like. This is _Eric_ , who understands the meaning behind Dele’s words like it is his third language. He pulls at Dele’s legs a little, as if he’s going to drag him into the water with him, voice rough when he speaks again, “Thank you, Del.”

They look at each other for a few seconds, and Dele wonders if it would be weird if he snapped a picture of Eric right now. He wants to capture the way is hair turns a deep golden colour when wet, the way droplets of water run from his shoulders down his chest, the way his eyes reflect the glimmering light of the swimming pool’s surface, the way he’s looking at Dele, open and earnest.

His fingers twitch against his phone.

“What’s been bothering you then, Diet?” Dele asks, a feeble attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts.

“Nothing, really. I’m just… thinking about stuff,” Eric answers before letting go of Dele’s legs to sink underwater for a few seconds.

He stares at Dele when he emerges, only his eyes and nose above water, a droplet running down his hair. Dele bites the inside of his cheek and leans forward, hands on each side of his knees, feet swinging back and forth.

_Curious and curiouser._

“That’s dangerous for you, thinking,” Dele banters him, because how can he not. “What about?”

Eric floats closer, hand brushing Dele’s knee when he stands up to his full height once again. Dele is distracted by the way the water glistens on Eric’s skin, but he is still aware that the reaction of his traitorous body to Eric’s simple touch is opening his legs a little more, making room for him should he choose to stand between his knees. It’s a bit embarrassing, and Dele flushes.

“You. My birthday,” is his answer, because Eric has never been one to beat around the bush, in spite of the red that is beginning to tint his cheeks.

Dele swallows. It’s ridiculous, really, the number of times Dele had thought about that night for the past five months – the sheer shirt, the press of their bodies together in the semi darkness, Eric’s skin warm under Dele’s hands, his lips pressed to the corner of Eric’s mouth. He did put the ball on Eric’s court that night, but Eric didn’t say anything the day after, or ever, for that matter, and Dele convinced himself that he had either forgotten about it, or hadn’t mean it.

 _Doesn’t sound like it_ , his brain supplies him.

His heart threatens to break through his ribcage, and Dele crosses his arms just in case. He straightens his back a little bit, clears his throat, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eric swallows, comes to a stop in the middle of his open legs, one hand on the floor beside Dele while the other fiddles with the hem of Dele’s shorts.

Eric looks up from under his lashes, blue eyes boring straight into his, and a ripple runs through Dele’s spine. The air between them feels charged with that same current of electricity that wraps itself around them whenever they get too close, this time amplified that they’re alone, and sober. Dele uncrosses his arms, one of his hands falling onto his lap while the other traces the shape of Eric’s ear, the line where his beard starts, the crooked part of his nose, his bottom lip. Even though it’s the same face he sees more days than he doesn’t, it’s different; to want this much and to _be allowed_ to touch him, no restrictions at all. Almost as if he’s rediscovering the lines of Eric.

The hand that was playing with the hem of his shorts finds a home on his hip, pulling him a tad closer to the edge. His eyes drop to Eric’s mouth and Dele goes, like a moth attracted to a flame, angling his neck down so Eric doesn’t have to strain his legs so much to reach him, since Dele sitting on the edge of the pool is a few inches taller than Eric standing inside of it.

Their foreheads rest together for a second and they share a smile, because they’ve been here before, but this time it’s better, this time Dele isn’t going anywhere, this time they’re finally going to stop tiptoeing around each other. Eric goes to close the gap between their lips, and Dele can already taste the chlorine on his skin, close, close, closer…

When one Adam Lallana comes crashing into their little bubble.

“Sorry to interrupt, lads,” Ads says, apologies dripping from each of his words as Eric groans and takes a step back. Dele straightens himself, feels Eric’s hand tighten on his waist before letting go of him completely, has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming in frustration.

“Yeah, Ads?” Eric says, running his hands through his hair until it is completely messed up. Dele almost weeps at how beautifully ruffled he looks, messy blonde hair and ruddy cheeks in full display.

Adam looks at them knowingly and Dele blushes a little. Ads and Hendo are possibly the worst kept secret on the national team, and Dele wonders how many times people had almost or definitely walked in on them.

“Harry’s looking for ya, Dele,” Adam says, smiling sheepishly at them before letting the door swing shut behind his retreating form.

Dele and Eric stare at each other for a moment before bursting into giggles. Unwittingly cockblocked by their own teammate and captain, really?

Dele sighs and gets up, collecting his socks and phone before slipping back into his shoes. He stretches, scratches the back of his neck before saying, “Harry has some real bad timing, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees, still standing in the middle of the water like some sort of Greek sculpture, or something equally marvellous and untouchable. Dele is almost by the door when Eric speaks again, “Gotta start kissing you when we’re away from these nosey bastards, Delboy.”

Dele smiles at him from the threshold, raps his knuckles on the door twice before giving him a two-fingered salute, “I’ll hold you to it, Diet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn, adam
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://thereisnopepe.tumblr.com) if u wanna yell at me.


	6. mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are Dele and Eric, and all of their missed chances have lead to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me a while, but here we are. the final chapter.

VI.

_ Mykonos, 2017 _

 

There is no sign of Eric inside the house when Dele comes out of his room, fresh out of the shower. Earlier, they had spent the day roaming about on a secluded beach they had found by accident, swimming and splashing each other with water when the sun got unbearably hot, kicking a ball around when they got restless of sitting under the sunshade. They had eaten sandwiches and lemonade for lunch, with Dele taking a nap while Eric read a book, the both of them trying to avoid the worst of the midday sun. When Dele woke up, bored and undeniably attracted to the look of utter concentration on Eric’s face, Dele had used his sandy feet to coax Eric into taking one last dive on the sea with him, also successfully distracting himself from jumping Eric right there, if only minimally, because wet, glistening Eric was almost as bad as frowny, deep in thought Eric. Done for the day, Eric had driven them back to the villa they had rented for their vacation, Dele content with just letting his gaze wander between the coastline around them and Eric’s profile from time to time.

Back here, Dele finally finds Eric outside, sprawled on the daybed in the garden, shirtless and asleep. He makes his way over, taking in the image in front of him as he dries his hair: it’s only their first day in Mykonos, but Eric is already sunburnt, the red marks on his back a bright contrast against the white sheets. As if he feels Dele’s eyes on him, Eric turns his head to face him, blinking sleepily when Dele plops down next to him, phone in hand.

“Christ, your back is looking like a giant red pepper,” Dele presses his palm to Eric’s back for a few seconds, wincing at the white imprint it leaves behind once he raises his hand. “Did we bring that aloe vera thingy?”

“You mean after sun lotion? Yeah,” Eric mumbles, half of his face – which is also sunburnt, albeit not as badly – pressed into the pillow as he gestures to somewhere on his side. “Already put it on my face, but I can’t reach my whole back.”

“Pass me the thing,” Dele pokes him again, keeps poking until Eric groans and hands him the bottle.

Dele straddles Eric’s bum as he applies a rather decent amount of after sun lotion to his back. The cold liquid makes Eric hiss and hunch his shoulders at first, his muscles going lax under Dele’s hands little by little. Eric sighs happily, and Dele watches him distractedly as he rubs the excess of lotion on Eric’s shoulders, even though he doesn’t need to, Eric has probably taken care of that already. He watches the gentle sweep of his eyelashes as his eyes flutter shut, and how his blonde hair gives way to a slightly darker beard, memorizes the smattering of freckles on his nose and high on his cheeks.

“There you go,” Dele says as he snaps the bottle shut and tosses it on the floor. He flops down beside him again, chucking his phone between them on the bed before rolling onto his side, facing Eric.

Eric drags the arm closest to Dele from under the pillow, and places it around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Dele lets himself be pulled, his body responding automatically to the proximity as he throws one of his legs over both of Eric’s.

“Thank you, Delboy,” Eric murmurs, hand caressing Dele’s neck, moving upwards until he’s tracing the shaved line on the back of his skull.

They watch each other for a moment, the realization that they’re going to kiss hanging in the air over them. Dele knows he should be nervous, should be terrified of risking it all, of taking this leap and letting himself fall. And he is, in a way, but at the same time this is _Eric_ , and how can Dele be scared of anything when Eric is right there with him? Eric, who doesn’t trust easily, but let Dele into his life as easy as breathing. Eric, who is patient, gentle, caring _._ Eric, who carries him on his back before early morning trainings, who lets Dele beat him at basketball, who lets Dele eat all of the red Haribo gummy bears. Eric, who speaks English and Portuguese and who understands the unspoken words of _Dele’s language_ like no one else in the world. They are Dele and Eric, and all of their missed chances have lead to this. 

Dele swallows, places his hand on Eric’s ribcage. This feels like the night on the swimming pool at St. George’s Park before Adam interrupted them, the weight of their  _ wanting  _ hanging heavy over them as the space between their bodies shortens, tension coiling between them like an elastic band ready to snap, but different, because they’re alone, and Dele knows they are going to stop tiptoeing the edge this time. Eric curls his hand around Dele’s ear, turning on his side, and Dele moves his hand to the side of Eric’s neck, down so he can thumb the birthmark near the hollow of his throat, down past his collarbone until he reaches Eric’s chest.

“I feel like my heart’s gonna make a run for it, beating real fast right now,” Eric whispers, and Dele looks up at him again, a gentle breeze brushing their limbs, Eric’s eyes as clear blue as the Mediterranean sea they had swam on earlier.

Dele feels Eric’s heart jackrabbiting under his palm, so he just hums in agreement; he rests his forehead against Eric’s and closes his eyes, a sense of calmness settling over his bones. He can feel Eric looking at him, a shiver running down his body as Eric traces the shell of his ear ear, his cheekbone, the faint stubble on his jawline, finds the back of his neck again.

“Del?” Eric murmurs, nickname soft on his tongue, his breath hot on Dele’s lips. Dele hums, and Eric gives him an eskimo kiss before speaking again, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

Dele smiles, thumbs at Eric’s collarbone, “I know.”

And then Eric finally, finally closes the gap between their mouths, and everything narrows down to this moment in time. It’s their first kiss, but the gentle press of their lips together makes Dele feel as if they’ve done this a million times before, a bit like coming home, really. Eric gently nips at Dele’s bottom lip, and Dele smiles a little into the kiss before opening his mouth. The hand on his neck slides down to his waist, pulling their bodies closer as the pace of their kissing gradually changes, the rhythm growing to match the beat of Dele’s heart. Dele breaks the kiss to giggle breathlessly when Eric flips them, his body now pressed into the mattress by Eric’s.

“You’re slick, Diet,” Dele laughs, runs his hands down Eric’s sides as his face is peppered with little kisses. They stare at each other for a moment, Eric bracing himself on his forearms as to not crush Dele, their legs tangled together.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Eric says, open and honest as only Eric knows how to be. He traces the shape of Eric’s bottom lip with his finger when he opens his mouth to continue, “Do you remember your first Christmas party at Spurs?”

Dele nods, because he does. Remembers the way their bodies cuddled together on the small sofa, Eric’s lips on his shoulder. 

“I was going to do it then. There was mistletoe hanging over your head the entire time you were sitting there, I don’t know how no one else saw it,” Eric says.

Dele huffs a laugh, and Eric ducks down to give him a quick peck. Dele smiles against his lips, “Why didn’t you then?”

“Didn’t have the guts, did I? Besides, I wasn’t sure if you liked me back,” Eric presses a kiss to the side of his mouth, then to his jawline. Dele runs one of his hands through Eric’s hair as he contemplates his answer.

“I liked you from the moment I first saw you, I think,” Dele whispers as he drags Eric into another kiss.

It feels so good to finally say it, to finally admit it out loud; to put the truth into Eric’s hands, and let him wrap the words around them, an extra layer to their small bubble of happiness. They kiss lazily for a while, there is no rush, no finish line in sight; soft kisses mixed with whispered truths, a flash of tongue here and there, up until Eric breaks their kiss to hide a yawn on the curve where Dele’s neck meets his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Eric mumbles against his skin, “Sea makes me tired.”

“It’s okay,” Dele says, gently scratching the short hair on the back of Eric’s head with one hand, grabbing his phone to check the time with the other. 5:05 pm. Dele muffles a yawn of his own, “Wanna kip?”

“Could use one, yeah,” Eric agrees.

They sort themselves on the bed, half of Eric’s body over his, their legs tangled together. Dele nuzzles the side of Eric’s hair, presses a kiss to his temple as he runs his fingers up and down Eric’s back in soothing motions, mindful of the sunburnt skin. He closes his eyes, lets himself be lulled by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in the distance and by Eric’s steady breathing. Dele is almost asleep when he feels Eric pressing a kiss to his collarbone, hears him mumble, “I liked you from the moment I first saw you, too, Del.”

Dele smiles.

Yeah, they’ve been a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> closing tiiiiiiiiiiiiiime, every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end..  
> it's... so bittersweet writing a final end note on a work u love very much. i love 'here i am leaving you clues' and i loved writing it, even if i wanted to die instead of doing it sometimes.  
> i wanna thank u guys so!! much!! for reading this thing of mine and for leaving lovely lovely comments on each chapter. every comment meant the world to me. also thank u for being patient and bearing with me, i know i'm not the best writer in the world, nor the fastest one.   
> also, i truly hope i did justice to your expectations on dele n eric's first kiss.
> 
> comments are always welcome and i'm on [tumblr](https://thereisnopepe.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk! <3


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